


I Dream of Ginny

by elegantstupidity



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, F/M, Human Disaster Mike Lawson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: There were probably more reasonable explanations for this. Like all the concussions had battered his brain into producing hallucinations. Or one of the guys decided it would be funny to spike his Gatorade with LSD. Really, anything was more reasonable than what he somehow knew to be true: He'd found a genie and her name was Ginny.Seriously.Written for pitchsecretadmirers Valentine's Gift Exchange 2017





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tacos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tacos/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day tacos!! You said go wild and I did!

“No fucking way.”

“I promise, it’s true.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I am not.”

Mike stared at the beautiful young woman currently sitting cross-legged on his kitchen counter. She stared back indignantly. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the attitude rolling off her. If anyone was going to have attitude in this situation, it should probably be him, right?

Although, that depended on his ability to even figure out what this situation _was_. 

Maybe attitude wouldn’t cut it. Maybe he just needed to start freaking out.

He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them again.

She was still there, though.

Okay. There had to be a more reasonable explanation than the one she’d offered. Because that was just ridiculous. 

Except. He’d literally watched her materialize out of the mouth of the bottle he’d accidentally knocked over while reaching for the salt. A bottle he didn’t remember being in his house before today.

“So, you’re a genie?”

The woman’s nose wrinkled and she rolled her eyes as if she’d just gotten through telling him that. To be fair, she’d just gotten through telling him that. 

What? It was a lot to process.

“Yep,” she replied, the syllable popping off her lips. “Pretty much.”

“Pretty much?” he demanded, thrown for yet another loop. His knees started to wobble and Mike didn’t even mind needing to lean hard against the counter as he struggled to keep up. "How are you pretty much a genie?

She waved him off impatiently. “It’s a long story. I’ve got the powers and responsibilities of a genie, which is all that really matters.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Her smile was wry, bracketed by a set of deep dimples. While it made her all the more stunning, Mike did not find it comforting. She quipped, “That’s magic for you.”

Mike shook his head, trying to form a coherent thought. The only one he could come up with was that his last concussion knocked a few too many wires loose in the old noggin.

“How do I know you’re for real?” he asked because it would be good to find out the limits of his brain’s malfunctioning.

“The big cloud of sparkly smoke as I came out of the bottle wasn’t enough proof?”

There was the attitude again. She had a point, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “Maybe I’m hallucinating. I want real proof. Make a,” Mike scrambled for something, “fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies appear. Then I’ll believe you.”

The genie just shook her head, brow furrowing. “No way. You want chocolate chip cookies, you wish for them or make them yourself. No way are you scamming me out of extra wishes. I know how this works. I’ve seen Aladdin.”

Her indignation nearly made him snort, but his brain was caught on something else.

“Aladdin?"

She shrugged. “I was born in 1992.”

Mike didn’t know how to respond.

So he didn’t. Not to that at least.

“Listen,” he paused and realized he didn’t know her name. While Mike didn’t particularly want to get distracted, maybe he’d feel better with a name to put to the apparition who’d spontaneously shown up in his kitchen. “What should I call you?”

That grin came back. The dimples were definitely growing on him. “Took you long enough. I’m Ginny.”

“Ginny the genie?”

“An unfortunate coincidence,” she replied sourly before her head tilted. She stared at him expectantly.

“What?” He probably shouldn’t be sounding so defensive with something that might just be a symptom of traumatic brain injury, but.

She sighed, shoulders slumping. The sleeve of her too-large t-shirt threatened to go with them.

(There was another thing. It was one thing for his brain to cook up some fantasy woman who literally could make his every wish come true, but why would it put her in an oversize t-shirt and beat up jeans? Wouldn’t it have come up with something a little more risqué? And without such an attitude?)

“I was going to wait for you to introduce yourself, like a normal human being, but I’ll just ask: What do I call you? Because it won’t be Master.”

“Uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck. Was it weird to introduce himself to a figment of his imagination? It felt weird. “I’m Mike?”

She nodded once, making no comment on his apparent uncertainty. "So, you want to know how this works?”

He nodded. What else was he supposed to do? Still, it didn’t sit right with him. Trying to take the reins again, he drawled, “Let me guess, you grant wishes?”

Like she heard the snark couched in his bland tone, Ginny gave him a hard look. “You get three and only three. No death wishes, no love wishes, and if you wish to make someone have sex with you, I have to grant it, but I _will_ make sure you regret it.”

“Deal with that one a lot, do you?” Mike raised an eyebrow. The steel in her voice did not invite skepticism.

She just smiled mysteriously, and again, Mike was not at all reassured.

“Well, good thing I don’t need any help in that department.”

Ginny snorted, finally looking around. She skipped easily over the glass walls and the big ass TV he sometimes turned on so the house felt less empty. She paused briefly on some spare Padres gear lying on the sofa, but nothing really elicited a reaction until she got to the portrait of himself he had hanging over the stairs.

She froze, eyes widening as she stared at the painting.

Mike braced himself for the teasing laughter he knew was coming his way. But the house remained dead quiet.

Ginny’s eyes darted back to the pile of Padres stuff, then to his face, and back to the picture. She did this a few times, her eyes widening a bit more on every pass. Finally, she landed back on him and her jaw dropped wide. She scrambled to her knees, practically crawling across the island in her excitement. He would’ve backed up, but there wasn’t really anywhere to go.

“What the fuck,” she breathed, like she had any right at all to be surprised by anything about this situation. Ginny pushed at his shoulder in disbelief. Mike stared back incredulously. “Mike. You’re— _Mike.”_

 _“_ Uh, yeah,” he answered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ginny’s wide eyes followed the motion before returning to his face, a little awed. Ordinarily, Mike would be all about that reaction, but even his dick knew this was not the time. (In spite of the very tempting image Ginny currently painted: eagerly leaning forward, plump lips parted, slight flush riding high on her bronze cheekbones.)

“You’re _Mike_ _Lawson_. Starting catcher for the Padres. I have your rookie card. Or, I used t—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, reeling a little. Did the fact that Ginny was a fan make it more or less likely that she was only a hallucination? He was so dazed, he just replied the way he did to every rookie that came through his clubhouse spouting the same thing. “Makes you look stupid. Makes me feel old.”

Ginny rocked back, a flash of hurt crossing her face. She frowned, tilting her chin up in defiance. “You _are_ old. I almost didn’t recognize you with that dead animal on your face.”

Mike rubbed a hand over his beard. But not self-consciously. No, it would take more than the disdain of a (beautiful, young, probably imaginary) woman he just met to knock him down a peg.

Still, he said, “What’s wrong with the beard? It makes me look distinguished.”

“If distinguished means old as hell, sure.” Her head tilted in consideration. “How old are you, anyway?”

“What? How’s that any of your business?”

“It’s not like I get news updates in there,” she defended, pointing at the still overturned bottle on the counter. “I never know how long I’ve been stuck inside and sometimes whoever lets me out makes their wishes too fast for me to find out.”

“Oh.” What else could he say to that? The least he could do was give her the date. Which he did. “It’s June 14th, 2016.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed and she frowned. Mike wasn’t sure if he wanted to know just how long she’d been stuck inside that bottle. Not if it was going to make him pity a hallucination.

By chance, he glanced down at his watch. And cursed.

“What is it?”

“I actually have to go. I’m gonna be late for batting practice.”

Ginny lit up. “So you’re still playing? You haven’t retired? Who’s the game against? You’re still with the Padres, right? How’s the season going so far?”

Absently, Mike answered her questions, bustling around the house to pack up his gear so he could leave. She trailed him, peppering him with more questions, which he answered distractedly. He was sure that if he let her, she’d keep going until he wasn’t just late, he missed the entire game.

“Look,” he cut in impatiently. “I’ve got to get going. We’ve got a new pitcher starting for us today and I’ve gotta look him over. I will answer whatever questions you come up with after I get back, okay?”

Ginny’s mouth snapped shut, but she still nodded her agreement. Mike hadn’t quite turned to the door when she dissipated in a golden haze and was sucked back into her bottle. He stared at the space she’d just inhabited for a solid minute before shaking his head and resolving to ask his doctor for a copy of his latest CT scan.

 

* * *

 

To Mike’s dismay, Ginny didn’t seem to be going anywhere. When he found out that there was absolutely no evidence of brain trauma from the battery of scans he routinely underwent, though, that dismay morphed into something closer to bemusement. Or amusement?

Potentially both.

At the very least, it seemed like she wasn’t totally a figment of his imagination. His housekeeper saw the bottle too, at least, which relieved Mike more than he cared to admit.

It was enough that he finally could stop trying to convince himself that she was just a very vivid, long-lasting day dream and start treating her like a person.

A person who happened to live in a bottle on his kitchen counter, but a person.

Which was how he discovered exactly how easy it was to like Ginny.

She was funny and whip smart, though she tended to downplay that. Like being stuck in a bottle shouldn’t have interfered with her ability to pursue an education. But she was tough, too, unwilling to take any of his shit. Or, at the least, willing to dish it out in return.

It was easy to forget that she was anything other than what she seemed to be: a 23-year-old with a weird taste in TV shows, an addiction to grape soda, and a not-so-subtle case of Mike Lawson hero worship.

(Although, that hero worship didn’t take long to morph into semi-amused skepticism, which was much more comfortable to live with. It wasn’t that Mike enjoyed ruining the image that most people seemed to have of him, but it wasn’t an easy thing to live up to.

Just ask his ex-wife.)

But then, Ginny’d do something like snap her fingers and his ice pack would refreeze or she’d blink and suddenly be wearing a sweatshirt that Mike had never seen before.

“What happened to no magic without a wish?” he asked, a little stunned, the first time it happened. His coffee, which he’d forgotten about in favor of the reports the scouts had sent over, was suddenly steaming again. Just as he raised it to take a sip.

Ginny shrugged, though she wouldn’t look at him, either. “I didn’t want to hear you complain about how gross cold coffee is again.”

Mike shuddered at the thought. He raised his mug to her in acknowledgement and filed that bit of information away for later.

Still, he didn’t actually make any wishes. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that there was an actual magical being living in his house. It seemed like a bad idea to make any wishes while his brain function was so compromised.

If that meant that Ginny was sticking around for a while longer, well, Mike wasn’t going to complain. 

 

* * *

 

Mike, despite being exhausted from an LA road trip that felt far longer than it should, still stopped at the grocery store before heading home. Both because he was craving more than protein shakes and fast food, but also because he was sure Ginny’d already worked her way through the stash of grape soda he’d gotten her. And so what if she had magic at her disposal and could probably blink gallons of the stuff into existence? The last time he brought it home from the store, she’d practically bounced up and down in her excitement and fucking beamed at him like he was her favorite person on earth.

And Mike really wanted to see that smile again.

But it was more than that.

He’d actually _missed_ her. Missed having her and her constant stream of questions and interruptions around while he was surrounded by the guys he called teammates. Guys who couldn’t find their asses with two hands some days, so it wasn’t as if it was much of a distinction. If it weren’t for Blip, Mike would’ve lost his mind in LA.

And that wasn’t even counting having to see Rachel again.

When he walked into the house, though, everything was quiet, which wasn’t so unusual. It seemed like Ginny hung out more in her bottle than in the house whenever he had to leave. He didn’t get it, but, then again, he wasn’t a genie.

He ignored the stack of boxes by the door, still trying to get over Rachel’s engagement. Instead, he walked straight to the kitchen, set the groceries on the counter and absently opened the refrigerator to start putting everything away. Before he could turn back to the bags, though, his eyes caught on the full case of grape Fanta still sitting on the shelf.

Huh.

“Ginny?” he called into the empty house, his stomach inexplicably hollow. What if she was gone? Either because she wanted to or his brain had repaired itself well enough to stop making her appear.

Before he could sink too deep into his disappointment, a stream of glittering smoke started pouring out of the bottle Mike had somehow failed to notice. Though he’d seen it before, the sight of Ginny coalescing out of the haze still left him stupefied.

“Oh,” she yawned. “You’re back.”

Trying not to be stung at her nonchalance, Mike busied himself unloading grocery bags.

“You know, you don’t have to stay in there,” he gestured vaguely at the jewel-toned bottle sitting innocuously next to the bottle of cooking oil. He should probably find somewhere more secure for it. Or at the very least, somewhere he wouldn’t overlook it so easily.

Ginny stretched expansively, and Mike turned away. Not before his eyes caught on the smooth, brown strip of skin between the waistband of her jeans and the hem of her shirt, though. Jerking open the refrigerator again, he had vague hopes that the cold would be enough of a shock that he’d stop ogling her.

“I kind of do,” she replied, casual as anything.

Mike ground to a halt. Slowly, he turned to face the genie curiously poking through his grocery bags, completely unconcerned with his scrutiny.

“What?”

Ginny shrugged again, wrinkling her nose as she pulled out a bunch of cilantro. She dropped it to the side and went back to rummaging through the bag. “I have to stay in there until the owner of the bottle calls me out.”

“You’re not the owner of the bottle?”

She looked at him as if he’d grown a second head, which was, honestly, fair. That was not the most pressing piece of information at the moment, but it was what Mike’s brain stuck on. Clearly incredulous, Ginny smiled, a mere quirk of her lips.

“I think it’s more like renting for me.

Mike had no idea what to do with that, so he ignored it.

“Well, uh,” he went back to putting away groceries, though nothing ended up where it was supposed to go. He’d have to reorganize later, when he wasn’t also trying to cope with the knowledge that he basically had an imprisoned woman living in his house. “If I say you don’t have to go back in unless you want to, does that do anything?”

She considered. “I don’t know. No one’s ever tried before.”

Something twanged in his chest at that admission. Ignoring it, which seemed to have become a theme today, he said, “We’ll try it out, then. You don’t have to stay in your bottle if you don’t want to.”

Ginny’s smile, her real smile, the one that put all of her dimples on display, bloomed, bright and lovely and just the way he remembered it.

Mike had to look away before he started getting stupid ideas in his head.

When Ginny enthused over the extra grape soda, though, he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Worse, he wasn’t sure if he’d want to.

God. He was in so much trouble.

  

* * *

 

“So, have you decided on your first wish, yet?”

Mike lowered the pad of heat maps he’d been going over to level Ginny with a look.

“No, should I have?”

Ginny fidgeted, lighting on the arm of the couch for a moment before she was up and pacing again. Mike assumed it was still something of a novelty being able to move around as much as she wanted. He hadn’t asked what being in the bottle was like, but it couldn’t have been particularly comfortable. And Ginny seemed like the kind of person—genie?— _woman_ who didn’t do well with sitting still. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like to be cooped up in such a small space so much of the time.

“Most people have by now,” she replied, padding around the room, peering at the few knick knacks he had out. 

“And what do most people wish for?”

“The usual,” she replied, though it was clear she didn’t think much of “the usual” or the people who wished for it. “Money. Power. Private island in the Caribbean.”

“Well, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with, might as well be the mayor here, and would probably get bored on all by myself on an island.”

“Right,” she teased. “With no one there to admire you and tell you how great you are, how could you survive?”

“They tell me I’m a narcissist,” he agreed sagely.

Ginny laughed, a loud bray that Mike couldn’t get enough of. “Yeah, narcissist’s one word for it.”

He rolled his eyes, but went back to her original point. “Is there a time limit on these wishes I don’t know about? If I don’t make them by a certain point, they disappear?”

She shook her head.

“But you’re stuck here until I make them, right?” Mike could have kicked himself for saying it. Why not just confess that he didn’t want her to leave yet? Trying to cover his tracks, he raised an eyebrow and snarked, “You got somewhere better to be?”

Ginny studied him for a tense, silent moment, her eyes roaming his face for some kind of sign that Mike didn’t know how to give. He was a catcher for God’s sake! He always knew what sign to put down, and yet this impossible, genuine, infuriating, amazing woman had him completely at a loss.

She must have found something she liked, because she shook her head, slow and purposeful. Just like the grin spreading across her face.

“No,” Ginny answered. “Nowhere better.” 

 

* * *

 

In the end, the matter of his first wish was taken out of his hands.

Two days before the All-Star Game, Mike woke up and instantly knew that this was going to be one of those days. Overnight, his knees felt like they’d swollen up to the size of grapefruits and his back was a tangle of knots and pinched nerves.

“Fuck,” he groaned, reaching up to scrub a hand across his face, but abandoning the effort when it proved too much for his aching back.

Still, he had to get up, so he swung his mostly bare legs out of bed and settled his feet on the floor. One perk of only sleeping in his boxers was that he wouldn’t have to struggle out of his pajamas. Just struggle into clothes.

“You couldn’t have held out for one goddamn week?” he muttered. “Bad enough that I might never make another All-Star squad, now I might have to bow out when it’s on my home turf. All because you couldn’t keep your shit together?”

He grimaced, willing his knees into working order, and pushed himself in one rough motion off the bed.

Or, he tried.

His back, obviously sensing his inattention, chose that moment to spasm, sending Mike crashing back to the mattress, cursing all the way down.

So, maybe, it wasn’t so unreasonable that he wasn’t thinking about the next words out of his mouth. He had plenty of other things to worry about.

“Just for a week, I wish I didn’t have to hobble around like an old man.”

Hardly before the last word was out of his mouth, a haze of sparking fog came streaming into his room, and Ginny materialized at the foot of his bed.

With a decisive nod and a snap of her fingers, she declared, “Done.”

Mike would have asked what the hell she was doing getting her weird glitter smoke all over his bedroom, but his back and knees—and hands and ankles and every body part he'd ever had cause to curse—lit up with a soothing, warm tingle. He would have asked what the hell that was, but it stopped before he could form the words. He’d settle for information after-the-fact.

Scrambling to his feet, Mike whirled on a slightly smug Ginny.

“You’re lucky,” she informed him, tilting her head before nodding in approval. “Sometimes wishes like that get a little too literal, but this one seemed to work pretty well.”

That was when the pain registered. Well, the _lack_ of pain.

Tentatively, he twisted, waiting for his back to screech in protest. It didn’t, just let him glide smoothly from side to side. Next, he flexed his knees, sure that they’d buckle both from the shock and their usual weakness. They didn’t, instead taking his weight easily.

Mike stared at them in shock for a beat before raising his eyes back to Ginny.

“What the fuck?”

Clearly expecting something other than confused anger, she crossed her arms defensively. “You made a wish.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“You did!” she spat, hackles and temper rising in response to his.

And, okay, he _did,_ technically _,_ make a wish, but it wasn’t like he thought Ginny would automatically _know_ that.

“You weren’t even in the room! How did you hear me?”

Ordinarily, Mike would be all about the slight flush in her cheeks and the way any time her gaze flickered below his neck, she jerked it back up to safe territory. Clearly, she’d noticed his (lack of) sleepwear. But ordinarily, Ginny wasn’t literally throwing off sparks, angry little bursts of heat and light that thankfully didn’t seem to have much effect on his bedding or hardwoods.

She stared him straight in the eye, chin tilted up defiantly.

“What part of me being magical don’t you understand?”

There was definitely some logic to that. Not that Mike really cared about logic. Ignoring it, he opened his mouth to demand she take it back, but she beat him to the punch.

“I’m not undoing it,” she declared, jaw set stubbornly.

“Of course fucking not,” he muttered, finally heading to his closet to get dressed. It was hard to try and hold on to his annoyance with Ginny subtly trying to eye him. Or, hard to appreciate Ginny eyeing him while he was still so annoyed. Either way, it did not make for particularly clear thinking. Better to get out of there.

Fast.

“Even if I could undo a wish—which I can’t—” she protested, though she thankfully remained rooted to the spot, “should I really be sorry for not being over the moon at the thought of having to do something that’s only going to end with you in pain?”

Well, when she put it like _that_.

Still, Mike poked his head around the corner to glower at her. She just glared back, so he retreated into the closet and settled for rifling huffily through his clothes.

“You couldn’t have checked to see if I was serious first?”

Ginny had no sympathy for that line of argument. “I’ve been here a month! Unless you’re actually going through early-onset dementia, there’s no way you just forgot what I’m supposed to do. You make I wish, I grant them. That’s how it works.”

She was, of course, right. Not that he liked it. Even if he wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t like it. 

Maybe breakfast would help him figure it out. 

“I don’t see how this is a bad thing,” she continued, trailing him out of the bedroom and toward the stairs. “You’ll be able to play like you used to!”

“Maybe I don’t remember how to play like I used to,” he sniped, though the way he could clatter down the stairs very nearly improved his whole outlook.

Ginny was silent. Clearly, she didn’t have a ready retort to that. In fact, it took her so long to come up with a reply, that Mike had already started rummaging through his refrigerator for breakfast.

“Well, it’s only temporary, at least. By next week you’ll be back to your achy, cranky self.” She set herself up on one of the stools at the island and muttered, “Not that you’re having a problem with cranky.”

Mike tossed her a look, but went back into the refrigerator to pull out extra bacon.

“You eating?” he asked, a peace offering.

As intended, Ginny perked up. When she saw the bunch of cilantro sitting on the counter, though, her nose wrinkled.

“Not if you’re planning on poisoning me, old man!”

“Old man?” he demanded, indignant.

“You’re the one who had to wish for functioning knees,” she reasoned.

“Watch it,” he growled, though even to his ears, he sounded more amused than anything, “or I’m not gonna feed you.”

Which were apparently the exact words required to ensure Ginny’s cooperation. She didn’t stop teasing him, she was just nicer about it. And anyway, it wasn’t like Mike really minded, not with the loud rush of her laughter echoing around the kitchen.

In fact, he could probably get used to it. 

 

* * *

  

After that first wish wore off and Mike readjusted to the limits of his body, he took to discussing potential wishes with Ginny as he came up with them.

Both because he wanted to avoid being blindsided again and because he just liked talking to her.

Clearly, she was the expert here. It just made sense for him to get her input. That she talked him out of every single one wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t even a deal. She just pointed out the way similar wishes had gone wrong in the past. The way a friend would.

(If Mike sometimes found himself neck deep in thoughts of Ginny that were distinctly _unfriendly_ , he figured it was only natural. It’d been a long time since he brought anyone home—or even back to his hotel room, if he was being honest.

After all, how was he supposed to explain the 23-year-old genie lounging on his couch to a potential hookup?

And anyway, a night of cheap thrills just didn’t seem that appealing when he could be spending time going over Ginny’s remedial pop culture education. Apparently, being stuck in a bottle and subject to the whims and wishes of someone else didn’t leave much time for TV. Sometimes, those evenings spent in front of the TV became nights spent on the couch curled together, which only meant Mike was even less likely to try and find a willing hookup on the nights he did go out.

Sex was great and all, but it wasn't everything. It didn't even approach the satisfaction he got just from watching stupid TV shows with a girl whose permanent address was a fucking bottle. And the nights they gave up on watching TV were even better.

The first time he woke up on the couch with Ginny wedged between him and the backrest, her breath gently puffing against his neck and arm slung across his chest, he was sure he was dreaming. But the minutes ticked on and nothing else happened, so he just settled into a slightly more comfortable position and went back to sleep.

Because waking up with Ginny’s soft curves and lean muscle plastered against him once was good, but getting to do it twice sounded so much better.)

So, because he’d asked about all the other ridiculous ideas he’d had, Mike couldn’t come up with a reason not to ask about this one.

They were sitting out by the pool as the sun sank below the horizon and the stars began to appear. Ginny was shit-talking the Padres’ poor performance while Mike listened in grumpy amusement. He couldn’t fault any of her analysis; the team kind of sucked this year.

When she paused to draw a breath, he broke in, floating the idle thought that’d been taking up too much of his attention lately.

“So, I could wish for the Padres to win the World Series, and we would?”

Ginny’s head tilted as she took in the change of topic. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, but she still replied, “Yeah, that’s how the whole magic wish thing works.”

“But you don’t think I should.”

Ginny sighed. “You’re a ballplayer, Mike. You’re in the game because you love it, not just because of the lifestyle it gives you. While you like the idea of going out a champion, you’d regret it. You’d regret never knowing if you won because you were the best or because you took a shortcut.”

Mike eyed her in interest. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Yeah,” she agreed and shrugged. “I thought about wishing to make it to—” she cut herself off, flushing. “Well, just wishing for the thing I’d always wanted, making it come true like that.”

Ginny snapped her fingers and a shower of brightly colored sparks rained out of her hand, swirling into the darkening night. She continued, but Mike was always enthralled by the casual display of her power. It didn’t distract him from the way she always cut herself off when they brushed up against the topic of her old life, the one she should be living, though.

Someday, he promised himself, she’d trust him enough to tell.

“But I realized that if I took the easy way out, everything I’d worked for my whole life wouldn’t matter. Every hour of practice, every sacrifice, every bit of hard work I’d put in wouldn’t be what achieved my goals.” Her gaze shifted from the distant night sky back to Mike. It was amazing that this 23-year-old woman (well, genie technically) could so easily see straight through him. “I knew it wouldn’t be worth it if I didn’t do it on my own, and I think you’d end up feeling the same way.”

Mike swallowed dryly, wondering what to say. He settled on, “You always try to talk people out of their wishes?”

Her mouth quirked in a sad, little smile, but she shook it off, nudging him with her shoulder. “Only the ones who keep me in grape soda.”

“That a hint?” He was already pushing to his feet, though. Just before he stepped back into the house, he turned and glanced over his shoulder.

Curled on the lounger, Ginny gazed up at the stars, her face tilted back to catch the night wind. Her eyes fluttered closed and Mike’s breath caught, but it had nothing to do with the bright sparks still lingering in the air and everything to with the soft, real smile that bloomed on her face.

Shaking himself, Mike turned back and went to get the girl her drink.

  

* * *

 

“Will you play catch with me?”

“I just caught eight innings on my day off,” he groaned, though he was already levering himself off the couch.

“You know you could wish for your knees to stop hurting. And your back. Permanently, that is,” she frowned, clearly still thinking about the All-Star Break.

Mike did, in fact, know that. He knew that and was more tempted than he cared to admit. He also knew that if he could go back to playing without any pain all the time, he would never quit.

The All-Star Game had been a rush. But a temporary one, and one that made him realize a few things.

His time in baseball was coming to an end. Maybe not this season, or the next, but it was time to start thinking about Phase Two. It just would help if he could stop imagining Phase Two with the company of someone who couldn’t stay.

“Shut up, rookie.”

“What’d you call me?” She wasn’t offended if the smile blooming across her face was any hint, but Mike was wary all the same.

“Rookie? You chatter just like the young guys the front office keeps calling up. Can’t keep their mouths shut.”

Her grin was pure delight. Mike couldn’t even bring himself to mind. Much. Still, he had a reputation to protect, so he frowned down at her, trying to project an air of cranky disapproval. It was his default, yet something about Ginny made it hard to achieve.

Rather than add more fuel to the flames, he led the way out to the pool deck, telling her that if she broke a window, she had to fix it. 

Ginny rolled her eyes, a well-worn glove appearing on her left hand and a baseball in her right. “Don’t worry about me, Lawson,” she replied, tossing the ball his way. “I saw your last throw down. You really wanted to make Voorhies work for it, huh?”

Mike huffed, but didn’t reply. Instead, he let himself fall into the easy rhythm of toss and catch, feeling fluid and easy despite the unexpected work he’d put in today. Ginny seemed content enough with the silence, too, which was a miracle in and of itself. 

Since he wasn’t tied up in mental gymnastics trying to keep up with her, Mike had the chance to really study her. 

He’d long gotten over the fact that she was beautiful. Well, gotten used to it. Well, figured out how to hide the fact that sometimes he looked at her and felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

But there was something about her now, lit up by the late afternoon sun. It wasn’t just that she was a pretty girl enjoying the thing he arguably loved the most.

Mike narrowed his eyes, tracking the fluidity of her mechanics. “You’re pretty good at this,” he accused.

“I played a little growing up.”

“This seems like more than a little.” The growing sting in his palm was testament to that.

“Maybe,” Ginny grinned impishly.

“Maybe,” he parroted back. “Why don’t you stop wasting my time and show me what you got?”

She lit up and immediately started eyeing the space between them. When she backed up to a very familiar distance, Mike’s eyebrows rose. Without her saying anything, he dropped willingly enough into a crouch and was rewarded by a dimpled smile.

“You know,” she said, hitching her shoulder up and down to limber up, “i used to be a pretty good pitcher.”

“How would i know that?” he snarked back. Her first pitch was respectable enough. An easy fastball, high and in. He sent the ball back out to her.

“My dad coached me all the way through high school. He made sure the travel teams took me on and the high school program gave me a shot. Nothing was ever quite enough for him, and it always pushed me to be better.” 

Ginny took up a running commentary as she worked her way through a battery of warm up pitches. Each one was a little more perfect than the last and Mike began to see that Ginny wasn’t bragging when she said she’d been pretty good. If anything, she was being modest. 

And then—

She threw a screwball.

Mike stared down at the ball nestled in the center of his mitt and then up at a triumphant Ginny. Had that just happened? Had she really just thrown a perfect screwgie? Mike could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen that pitch thrown with anything approaching such finesse.

“Do that again.”

“Kinda need the ball for that,” she teased, clearly enjoying his shock. 

Obediently, Mike threw it back, sank into his crouch, and watched. 

She leaned in, looking for a sign that wouldn’t come, but was probably just part of her pre-windup ritual. When she rocked back, ball and grip hidden securely in her glove, Mike started looking for tells. It was his job, after all, one that he was pretty goddamn good at. Plenty of pitchers in the bigs had tells.

And while he’d only seen a few pitches from Ginny, he couldn’t find one single clue as to what she was about to throw.

So, even though he knew it was coming, Mike still felt a pleasant little throb of surprise when her screwball hit the center of his mitt.

“Where’d you learn that?” he demanded. With an arm like that she should be playing, not—

Stuck granting his wishes.

Ginny just shrugged, flapping her glove at him impatiently. He threw the ball back, hoping for an answer. 

He didn’t get one. 

“Seriously. That thing was beautiful.”

Her lips quirked in a self-satisfied smirk, but she still didn’t say anything. Rather, she threw another pitch, a curve this time that even Mike didn’t see coming.

No matter how hard he pressed, Ginny didn’t respond, though he could see the effort of staying silent was taking its toll. Her brow furrowed, the line of her body tensed. The trajectory of her pitches fell just short of perfection. 

Finally, she threw her hands in the air, the picture of utter exasperation. Before he knew what he was doing, Mike was stalking forward, like he was on the way to just another mound visit with a pitcher who needed to find his— _her_ —cool. 

“What makes you think I want to talk about this?” she complained. 

Mike rocked back, exasperation coming for him, too. “Uh, the fact that you wanted to play catch at all?”

“Well, maybe I just wanted to play catch.”

“Sure. That’s why you decided to throw the most perfect screwball I’ve ever seen in my life.”

She flushed, mouth twisting in annoyance. Her arms crossed mulishly over her chest. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

Mike rolled his eyes and considered pushing it. But since Ginny could disappear at will, and he didn’t really want to deal with her avoiding him until he got the message, he dropped it. 

For now. 

  

* * *

 

Much as Mike liked having Ginny around, he couldn’t shake the knowledge that she’d had a life and dreams before whatever happened that turned her into a wish-granting genie. To be fair, he’d always known that, but catching that first screwgie was the point of no return. 

What kind of asshole was he, just keeping her around because he didn’t like being lonely?

He needed to make a second wish and the last one could set her free. 

The problem, of course, was that he couldn’t decide on a second wish.

Which was how he found himself asking about the wish that he’d been considering more and more since Duarte got signed and he’d had to take a hard look at what his future held. Of course, with him, thinking about his future always made him wonder if it would look any different if he’d grown up like a regular kid.

It all came to a head after a pretty rough road trip, first to San Francisco, then out to Colorado, and ending with Mike parked outside his father’s house in Poway.

He trudged inside the house and dropped his bag by the door. Everything was quiet, but Mike knew better than to believe Ginny’d gone. He made his way upstairs to the pool deck.

Nine times out of ten, Ginny was outside. He figured she was making up for lost time. If he’d been stuck in a tiny bottle for months, if not years, at a time, he’d be outside every chance he got, too.

She wasn’t basking in the late afternoon sun or swimming laps, though.

Mike turned and surveyed the patio that passed for his backyard, stumped, until a quiet _thwack_ caught his attention. Listening, intently, another _thwack_ directed his attention up.

The roof.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he was treated to the sight of Ginny teeing up another shot off the edge of the house. As he watched, she took another swing with the golf club she must have conjured because he didn’t have any in the house. The ball sailed into the air, winking out of existence just before it crashed into the neighbor’s plate glass window and reappearing back on the tee.

“Is this what you do while I’m gone?”

Ginny turned, grinning. “Gotta do something to kill the time.” When he grimaced, she laughed a little. “What, you don’t play golf?”

“Do I look like I play golf?”

“You look like a cousin from Duck Dynasty.”

Mike just shook his head, ruing the day he’d suggested they work through some of the reality TV she’d missed out on. He’d been hoping for the Bachelor, a guilty pleasure he’d developed with Rachel, but Ginny got weirdly invested in Storage Wars, Dog the Bounty Hunter, and the other offerings on A&E.

“You done?”

She shrugged, but the ball, tee, and club all disappeared as the patio blinked back into its usual setup.

Once they were back in the house, though, Mike wished they’d just stayed on the roof. He’d almost forgotten about the swirling cloud of doubts that’d consumed him all the way home, which crashed back into focus out of the fresh air.

He walked straight over to the bar and poured himself a generous slug of bourbon. Ginny, who’d already been halfway to the kitchen stairs, turned to him and eyed his drink critically. She didn’t say anything, though, just drifted over and leaned against the pool table, waiting him out.

And Mike had never been very good at waiting.

“I was wondering how many people have wished to change their past,” he admitted, turning the glass in his hands and refusing to look at her.

“Is this a ‘just wondering because I want to hear a funny story’ or a ‘just wondering because I’m seriously considering it myself’ kind of situation?”

Apparently, Mike’s silence was answer enough.

She sighed gustily and he finally looked up. Ginny tugged at her lip, torn.

“Just tell me,” he grumbled, knocking back his drink and immediately pouring another.

“There’ve been a couple,” she admitted. “Time wishes are tricky. Even if I try to make everything fit together, there's almost no way to guarantee it works the way you want it to. Plus, there’s no way of telling, really, if changing the past ends up making you happier; you can’t remember what made you so unhappy in the first place. It’s trading your current problems for unknown ones.”

Mike nodded, thinking it over. His current problems could probably be worse, but he was so sick of them. Maybe it would be worth it.

But Ginny wasn’t done. She crossed the few feet between them to lay a hand against his arm. Just like every other time she touched him, Mike lit up in warm awareness of her skin against his. 

It wasn’t quite enough to push him out of his funk, though.

Earnestly, she said, “I’m not sure what you want to change, but you have to decide whether or not it’s worth giving up everything you’ve achieved. Because there’s no guarantee that the Mike Lawson you turn into, if you make this wish, that he has any of it.”

Because he was feeling particularly sorry for himself, he snorted derisively. “All I’ve achieved, huh? Like the failed marriage and captaining a team that hasn’t made the playoffs in a decade? Those achievements?”

Ginny frowned and withdrew her hand. Mike hardly had time to miss its warmth before she laid into him. “How about eight-time All-Star? How about earning the respect and admiration of your teammates and fans? How about a sixteen-year career that’s gonna land you in Cooperstown when all’s said and done? Does none of that mean anything to you?”

“Nine,” he said, a little stunned.

“What?”

“I’ve been an All-Star nine times.”

“Oh.” Ginny deflated a little. “I must have missed one while I was—”

Simultaneously, they both turned to look at the bottle, sitting innocently on the bar where Mike had stashed it the last time the guys came over.

Silence descended.

It wasn’t the comfortable silence that sometimes enveloped them while Mike went over batters and Ginny prowled through his stacks of baseball biographies. No, this was distinctly awkward.

Of course Mike was going to break it.

“Huh.”

“What,” she asked suspiciously.

Mike let the smug grin that wanted to bloom as soon as she started listing his greatest hits show itself. “Just. You really did have my rookie card, didn’t you?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

“I bet you even had a poster of me up on your wall,” he gloated, leaning into her space.

She leaned away, laughing and pushing playfully at his shoulder. “I did not!”

“Sure you didn’t. We’ll go with that.”

“It’s the truth, old man, of course we’re going with it!”

He shook his head, grinning, and finally pushed off the bar. His arm looped casually over Ginny’s shoulders so she’d come along. She shrugged theatrically, but when his arm didn’t budge, gave up and let him steer her towards the stairs. 

If Mike noted just how good she felt pressed up against his side and reeled her in even closer, he’d just say he was making sure she didn’t bump into the foosball table when Ginny asked for an explanation. 

She didn’t. Just smiled and wrapped her arm around him, too. 

 

* * *

  

By the end of August, despite one of the more lackluster seasons of his career, Mike couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy. Sure, the Padres would be lucky to break .500 even once, his divorce was being finalized, and his replacement was breathing down his neck, but Mike Lawson was downright peppy.

And people were starting to notice.

Talking heads, his teammates, even the front office. They all were wondering what the hell had him in such a good mood.

Not that Mike paid them any mind. 

(What was he supposed to tell them? “Oh, I’ve just befriended the genie that I found in my house earlier this summer.” Yeah. That’d go over well.)

He had more important things to consider. Like what, exactly, to do with his last two wishes. There were so many possibilities, it required careful consideration.

Not that Ginny pressed him to make a choice. She seemed happy enough hanging out with him. The standing invitation to use his seats at Petco probably had something to do with it, but Mike didn’t think he was flattering himself in thinking the way her eyes sometimes trailed over him wasn’t also a factor.

It made him feel slightly less guilty for checking her out, too. But only slightly.

Mike shook himself. Again. Was it really his fault if Ginny’s toned arms and fierce look of concentration were so distracting?

The ball sailed straight into his mitt. 

No matter how many times he caught for her, Mike never stopped being amazed. Not because she was a girl, but because over and over again Ginny proved her mettle and grit and determination. He shook his head, regretting that some of his teammates didn’t have her nerve.

“What?” she asked, sounding a little defensive. 

“Nothing,” he replied, hurling the ball back to her. “I was just thinking you should come by Petco and whip the bullpen into shape.”

Ginny’s shoulders hunched. “Ha ha. Very funny, old man.”

“Not a joke.” 

She looked at him, more guarded than he’d seen her in a while. Whatever she saw made her jaw set. With a wisp of smoke, her glove and ball disappeared, and Ginny stalked away. 

Stunned, it took Mike a moment to follow. 

“What’d I say?” he asked, trailing Ginny right up to the edge of the pool, where she plopped down, dropping her feet in with a dull splash. On the way down, she must’ve traded her leggings for shorts and Mike was treated to the sight of her smooth, dark legs swishing in the water. Not that this was really the time to ogle her. Slowly, he lowered himself down to sit at her side, far enough away to give her space. 

Her shoulders fell. “Nothing.”

Mike snorted. He’d heard that one before and wasn’t falling for it. “C’mon. I must’ve stuck my foot in my big mouth. What was it?”

Ginny’s jaw worked and he tried to brace himself to be shut out again. 

Finally, though, staring down at the rippling water, Ginny began to talk. 

“I played ball all my life. Partly because my dad got me started before I could even read my name, but I loved it, too. It made sense. He wanted me to play in the majors, not because I’d be the first woman. Just, he never made it himself. Got stuck in AAA and had to give it up when my brother was born.” 

She glanced up at him and if she was surprised that he was already looking back, she didn’t show it. “And you telling me that I could whip actual pro pitchers into shape? Like it means nothing or it’s so obvious?” Ginny shook her head and looked back at the pool, arms cradling her stomach protectively. “I could’ve been a ballplayer.”

“Well, why aren’t you?”

That seemed to shake her. Dryly, she gave him a sidelong glance and replied, “Pretty hard to have a career as a ballplayer when I’ve been trapped in a bottle for the past five years.”

Mike whistled low. Five years. That was basically her entire adult life. He didn’t want to pry, but at the same time, he wanted to know.

Yeah, he was gonna pry.

“You never said how you got stuck.”

Ginny’s face shuttered.

“And you don’t have to,” he rushed to assure her, “but—”

She sighed, cutting him off. Her legs swished silently in the water and Mike just watched the ripples she produced. 

“I was eighteen when I found the bottle,” she began, not stopping until she’d spilled the whole story. How her first wish had been to go to prom, which she did, in spite of the huge fight she got in with her dad over it. Her second had been for her friend’s dad to finally come to a game, which he did. 

“I didn’t think to make sure to specify that he didn’t drive there drunk,” she mused, her mouth twisting bitterly. 

As economically as possible, she described the resulting crash, coming to in a totaled car to find an empty seat where her father had been and a hole in the windshield indicating where he went. 

How, in the aftermath, her genie somehow convinced her to switch places, that her grief wouldn’t catch her in the bottle and magic could cure everything. 

“I’m not sure if I believed him, even then, but...” Ginny trailed off. “I don’t know. He’d been trapped in the bottle way longer than I’ve been. And it’s not so bad.”

Mike, personally, didn’t see how that made it okay for the guy to trick a grieving teenager into perpetual imprisonment, but that was him. 

“But if you had the chance at freedom, you’d take it.”

“Of course.” Her reply was immediate. “I mean, not if it meant someone else getting stuck, but yeah, it’d nice to be in charge of myself again.”

Mike nodded, the wheels in his mind already turning.  

 

* * *

  

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, sliding onto the barstool beside his.

It wasn’t often that Ginny and he actually went anywhere together. Although he’d toyed with the idea of bringing her bottle along on road trips and turning her loose, the potential questions he’d face didn’t seem worth it. 

But tonight was a special occasion and he wanted to mark it. 

Or, at least, not taint his house with the memory if things went wrong. 

Mike took a deep breath and on the exhale, loosed his answer. “I’ve come up with my last wish.”

Ginny’s head tilted in bemusement. She grinned a little. “Old man, have you taken one too many foul tips to the mask? You’ve still got two wishes left.”

“This one’s more of a one-for-two.”

“That sounds like a terrible deal,” she laughed, though it trailed off when he didn’t join in.

“I think my last wish should set you free.”

The statement hung in the air for a moment before Ginny frowned.

“No,” she said decisively, turning away from him and taking a long drag from her beer.

“What? Why not?”

“So, say the magic works and I become a human again. What am I supposed to do? My family probably thinks that I’m dead. There’s no way I can make it as a ballplayer, not when I’ve apparently dropped off the face of the earth for five years.

“Do I stay with you? Hope that no one starts digging into my past or that you never realize just how weird all of this is?” She shook her head. “It won’t work.”

“Well, given how well I’ve taken to all of this, let’s not assume that weird’s going to send me running,” he joked, trying to gloss over the way the thought of her staying with him, by choice, made him ache with possibility.

Mike was man enough to admit that he’d dreamed of a life where Ginny stayed with him, just because she wanted to. Wanted him.

But while she might want either of those things, even now, it wouldn’t be a choice. Not really. She was right, after all, there were only so many options for her if things went the way she thought they would.

Which was why he had to give her the alternative.

“But what if, instead of just freeing you, I sent you back?”

“Send me back? Where?”

“Before you ever found the bottle. I could wish for you to never find the bottle. Then, hopefully, you’d be able to live your life the way it was supposed to happen. You could get drafted or go to college or do something else entirely. But you’d have the choice.”

Ginny was silent, so he plowed on.

“I know time wishes are tricky, that I have to weigh the possibilities against the realities. But the reality is this: You deserve a shot at the life that you want. And if the only way to do that means I maybe end up with a slightly different life, it’s worth it.”

He swallowed. She still hadn’t moved.

“I know that there’s no guarantee it’ll work, but it at least gives you a shot, right?”

Ginny stared hard at the bar top. Long enough for Mike to start doubting his solution. Finally, though, she looked up, hope and excitement making her eyes shine.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “It does.” 

 

* * *

  

It didn’t take them long to hammer out the exact wording, and after they did, it seemed ridiculous to wait any longer.

So, they walked out into the balmy night air. They weren’t about to spend their remaining few moments together cooped up in a dark bar. Walking a few steps together, Ginny closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, savoring the breeze on her skin. Mike watched, savoring the sight. 

As she exhaled, her eyes fluttered open and she turned to face him. 

“You ready?”

Now or never.

“Just. Before you go.” 

Mike took a step and closed the distance between them. He laid his palm against her cheek, hoping that he hadn’t misread things. His eyes wandered over her face, which she tilted up to his, full lips parting. 

Knowing an invitation when he saw one, he leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers. One of her hands came up to his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric there. She used her grip to rock into him, lips moving insistently against his.

And, who was Mike to deny the lady?

Twined together, they kissed with the knowledge that nothing else mattered. They kissed, and the world charitably faded away.

Finally, though, they had to pull apart, just far enough to catch their breath, and though the world was reluctant to intrude on such intimacy, it had to be done.  

Mike’s hand still lay against the curve of Ginny’s cheek. The dark sweep of her eyelashes threw inky shadows against her golden skin. He stared and stared, unabashed, doing his best to etch the sight before him into his memory.

When her eyes opened, she smiled sadly and leaned into his palm. “I guess this is goodbye,” she breathed.

“Who said anything about goodbye?” he responded, clinging to the belief that somewhere, somehow, he was going to see her again.

Ginny's lips quirked. With one last sweep of his thumb across her cheekbone, Mike dropped his hand.

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Her smile was watery and it wavered, but Mike was still thankful to see it one last time. “You’re not even gonna remember me.”

Solemnly, he shook his head. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, smile dropping. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“So, don’t make me wait too long next time around.”

A surprised burst of laughter bubbled from her lips. Rolling her eyes fondly, she said, “If everything goes right, I’ll be pretty busy. I’ll get to you when I can.”

Mike grinned back. “As long as you promise.”

“Promise,” she murmured, before rocking back into his space, her arms wrapping around his neck. Mike’s banded tightly around her waist, and he tried not to focus on how perfect she felt wrapped up in his arms. Not when he’d have to let her go soon.

Eventually, they had to pull away.

“You ready?” she asked, offering her hand to him.

Twining his fingers with hers, he nodded. “I wish that you never found the genie’s bottle. I wish that you got a chance at the life you should have had.”

Her responding smile, bright and lovely and exactly the one he’d first fallen for, bloomed even as she nodded decisively and whispered, “Done.”

For the second time of the night, the world faded away, but this was the work of something far less exciting than a first kiss. As Ginny’s magic flooded the air, enveloping them both, the soft glow of the San Diego night began to darken, the sidewalk began to dissolve beneath their feet. 

Everything melted away until the only thing in the world was Ginny’s hand in his and her smile gleaming in the dying light. He squeezed her fingers one last time just as they disappeared, and everything plunged into the welcoming dark. 

 

* * *

  

Mike Lawson woke to the blaring of a San Diego traffic report. Groaning, he let it play as he groped the mattress beside him. He came up empty.

Good.

While he’d definitely gone to sleep with someone sharing his bed, it would appear that his flavor of the day had decided to make herself scarce come morning. He just hoped she hadn’t also made some of his valuables scarce.

He really didn’t want to deal with that today of all days.

Inexplicably, he’d been looking forward to this day ever since the front office announced the newest call up to the Padres. Sure, he’d seen tons of pitchers come and go, but Mike knew that this one would be something else. And if the decision brought down a media circus, well, he’d admit it to his dying day, but maybe that was exactly what the team needed. A shakeup.

As long as baseball remained everyone’s priority, Mike was more than willing to roll with the punches and expected his team to follow suit.

He was so excited that he actually made it to Petco earlier than usual. Still late, but closer to on time than he’d been in weeks.

Still, he didn’t get a glimpse of his newest teammate until he’d hit the field for BP and warm ups. All he’d gotten out of the guys were shrugs and noncommittal grunts when he’d asked for first-impressions. He should’ve known better than to expect much from them, though.

Mike was getting loose, shooting the shit, when over Voorhies’ shoulder, he caught sight of someone who could only be his new pitcher.

Decked out in Padres blue, she stood, uncertainly eyeing her new teammates before her attention stopped on him. If she looked familiar, Mike dismissed it as the simple fact that her face had been plastered across every sports news broadcast in the past three days. Of course he recognized her.

Even if her tentative smile nearly knocked the wind out of him with some undefined, half-remembered joy.

Shaking himself, he summoned up his usual cocky grin and started over.

It was time to meet Ginny Baker.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I will 100% admit to starting this solely for the pun, but it was super fun to write!!


End file.
